Curse of the Elements
by Ilimyn
Summary: All Ilimyn ever really wanted was to obtain power and lord it over all those stuck-up mages. Is that so wrong? But when his ritual threatens the safety of Azeroth and drags old friends and new enemies into his mess, will anyone be able to stop him?
1. Ilimyn Togzakoggulus

**Ilimyn Togzakoggulus**

One fine sunny day, Ilimyn woke up feeling slightly damp despite the fact that he was lying in a pile of ashes in a blackened crater surrounded by smoldering wreckage. His first thought was "Wonder how much _this_ is gonna cost me."

After brushing some of the debris off, rubbing at his eyes, checking to see how many limbs remained intact and dry heaving for a few seconds, he started to wonder where he was.

The crater he'd been sleeping in was surrounded by ruins on the edge of the ocean, at the bottom of a cliff. When he looked up, Ilimyn saw white stone walls that looked vaguely like the white stone walls of Stormwind. Except a little worse for wear.

And anyway, he couldn't be in Stormwind. Stormwind didn't have any craters. Yet.

The only way off his scorched little beach was swimming through shark-infested waters or climbing up a sheer cliff face. So Ilimyn rolled up his sleeves, took a deep breath and screamed for Haaghun to show his ungrateful face immediately.

After several minutes, the felguard appeared.

"Sure took your time didn't you?" Ilimyn snapped, wagging his finger. "Whatever happened to punctuality, huh? You ought to be glad you work for such a kind and generous master of all evil! I could do horrible, degrading things to you!

"Anyway, carry me to the top of this cliff."

Haaghun glared at him.

"Oh stop sulking. If our positions were reversed and you weren't three times my size I would definitely do the same for- oh who am I kidding, just carry me you big oaf!"

Ilimyn shimmied up Haaghun's leg, planting his foot in a few uncomfortable places along the way, grabbed onto the spikes on the felguard's back and hung there rather awkwardly. "And don't get any funny ideas about climbing all the way up and letting go! I don't care what hell big ugly demons end up in, I _will_ hunt you down and drag you back out!"

And so Haaghun climbed, while Ilimyn hung onto his back and complained about the heat, the cold, the damp, the sun, the clouds and the annoying squeaky sound he heard every time he started talking. When they finally reached the top he hopped off the demon's back, just in case any funny ideas were gotten after all.

"Well what do you know, this _is_ Stormwind!"

The city looked just as it had last night, if perhaps a little more detailed than he could remember. It was at this point that Ilimyn also remembered that he'd been in Stormwind last night when he'd fallen asleep. In hindsight, that probably should have been his first clue when he started wondering where he was.

He most certainly did not remember the smoking ruin behind him though. A canal ended in a waterfall, the street in a cliff. Most of the nearby barracks were burned away. Ilimyn had a vague recollection of a park he'd passed out in that apparently was no longer there.

He reached into his pocket and felt the shards of a used soulstone within. That, he guessed, was pretty lucky.

What could have happened? Had some disaster struck? Was the city attacked while he slept? Had some new evil, a terrible force of destruction and death, stolen upon the city while it was vulnerable to strike fear into the populace in the one place they thought they would be safe, so soon after the last great danger was finally defeated? Would the heroes of Azeroth be called forth once more to protect their world? Would they be able to, in the face of such raw power?

Ilimyn decided he didn't care and went to go find breakfast.

But at the Pig and Whistle, the huge smoking pit where the park used to be was all anyone wanted to talk about.

"He was as big as the castle!" said a human wearing what looked an awful lot like a hunter's uniform, "he spread his wings and blotted out the sky!"

"Wings? It didn't have wings! Those were tentacles! It's one of those faceless monsters from Northrend!" The dwarf covered her face with her hands, "My pa, he got mixed up with those things during the campaign. When they found him he didn't even look like himself anymore!"

Another human slammed his tankard down. "They were wings I tell you! And they were on fire!"

"Green fire! Must've been a demon!"

"No, regular old fire! On account of it was a _dragon_, not a demon!"

"Demon!"

"Dragon!"

"Demon!"

"Dragon!"

"Demon dragon!"

Both men turned to glare at Ilimyn. He pointed at the elf sitting nearby and quickly scooted back into the shadows.

"You're all a bunch of dumb kids," said an old woman leaning against a wall, "That wasn't just some dragon. That was _Deathwing_. Saw him with my own eyes during the war."

"Which war?"

She glared at the speaker. "The war Deathwing was flying around in! He's gotten a bit uglier with age, but that was him alright."

"He made off with that she-dragon's head," a very drunken night elf muttered, "Maybe it was his wife!"

"Dragon's don't have wives!"

"And she was his daughter!"

"I thought Lady Prestor was his daughter?"

"Aye, Prestor. She was the dragon."

"That's silly. Who'd fall for a dragon in a dress?"

Ilimyn had to climb onto one of the bar stools to get the innkeeper's attention. Even then, his pancake looked suspiciously like an omelet when it finally ended up in front of him.

"We've not heard from Darnassus since it happened. Think they got attacked too?"

"Why would anyone bother attacking them? They're just elves."

The drunken night elf staggered to his feet, shaking his fist.

"Northshire's on fire I hear!"

"It's gotten mighty windy in Westfall!"

"They finished the bridge in Redridge! But I guess that's unrelated."

"Why would he want her head anyway? Is that some sort of dragon thing? They like collecting heads? _Are dragons secretly trolls?_"

And so it went, getting louder and more feverish until a kid poked his head in the door to say some shaman were wandering around telling people what was going on. He moved just in time to avoid the stampede.

Ilimyn dodged around legs trying to get a look, but the crowd outside the tavern was too big and too tall, and Haaghun had stayed inside to order a drink (despite getting weird looks and having no money). He thought he got a lucky break when he noticed a pile of crates on top of a wagon, only to realize too late that they were boxes full of very hungry squirrels.

"People of Stormwind!" cried the shaman at the center of the crowd over the sounds of a gnome being eaten by ravening woodland creatures, "a dark time is upon us! The dreaded black dragon Deathwing-"

"Told you!"

"Hush!"

"- and the Twilight's Hammer cult have brought about a terrible catastrophe upon-"

"Is it really a catastrophe?"

The shaman blinked, stroked his tentacles, and said "A terrible _cataclysm?_"

The crowd murmured in agreement.

"Even now, the boundaries between this world and the Elemental Planes weaken, and foul creatures arise from beneath the earth to bring about greater chaos!"

Ilimyn paused in his squirrel-wrangling to say "El-i-mental?"

"The time has come for all of Azeroth's heroes to rally together and bring stability to this shattered world! Who will answer the call?"

There were cheers and applause, and the crowd thundered off after the shaman.

Ilimyn went back inside and ran to Haaghun, smacking the drink from his hand just before it reached his lips. "Great news! There was a cataclysm!"

Haaghun glared at him.

"I know, wonderful isn't it? Come on, get your axe from where it's hovering over my neck and let's go! I'll have to talk to Bizkin, hehehe, this is perfect! Elemental planes, Haggy! Ohoho, this is just so perfect!"


	2. Drurok, Warrior of Ironforge!

**Drurok, Warrior of Ironforge!**

As it turned out, getting onto a pirate ship was easy. All you had to do was get captured by them.

Stealing their cargo and getting off again was proving to be somewhat more difficult.

"Look at this!" one of the pirates said, lifting Ilimyn by the cloak and shaking him. "Looks like a little kid with a beard!"

"Watch it, fool, that's a gnome."

"Ew, throw it overboard! Those things bring bad luck."

"Better not," Ilimyn said, "I might unleash the very flames of Hell on your extremely flammable ship and cackle insanely as it sinks."

One of the pirates put her hands on her hips and smirked. "If you can do that, why didn't you when we attacked your boat?"

Ilimyn thought about this, and shrugged.

"Let's just kill him like we did with the rest of the crew."

"It's bad luck to kill a gnome."

"Since when?"

"Since they started strapping explosives to themselves that go off when you kick them."

"We're not going to kick him, we're just going to throw him overboard."

"Oh. Well carry on."

"Hang on!" Ilimyn said. "Gnomes float!"

"Good point," said the pirate holding him. "We'd best cut his throat first."

The pirates cheered and surged forward with daggers drawn, pushing and shoving to get at him first, but the din cut off when a quiet voice said "Stop."

A wooden leg, thick around as a small tree, stumped across the deck. A steel hook, huge and sharp, glinted menacingly. A huge man, surrounded by a cloud of smoke, face shadowed by his huge hat, approached. Hugely.

Ilimyn fell to the deck in a heap. He got up, dusted himself off, muttered a few choice comments about pirates and their mothers, and looked straight into the eye and eye patch of the pirate captain, leaning so his face was only a few inches away.

"A gnome," he said, smoke billowing from his mouth, "and by the smell of him a warlock."

Ilimyn gagged. "You're one to talk about smells!"

His one eye was half-lidded, his expression bored. He took a long drag from his pipe (which was also unnecessarily large) and blew the smoke slowly. But his hook twitched every few seconds, only a few inches from Ilimyn's face. The gnome swallowed.

"Not many gnome warlocks in these waters," the captain said, standing up straight. "In fact, I'd wager there's only one. You're the one our employer's been looking for, aren't you?"

Ilimyn smiled. "That depends. Is your employer nice?"

"Some might call him so."

"Really?"

"Yes. They don't last long."

"Oh."

"My employer," said the captain, "warned me about a certain gnome warlock. Name of Ilimyn."

"Never heard of him."

"My employer, or Ilimyn?"

"Neither. Might be the same person."

"Unlikely."

Ilimyn chuckled. "You sure?"

"He told me the warlock was to be killed, his corpse dismembered, the pieces burned, the ashes mixed with consecrated water and the whole lot dumped into the ocean on a full moon night."

"Oh," Ilimyn scratched at his chin. "Probably not the same person."

"Those're extreme measures, boy," the captain said, tapping his hook against his peg leg. "And expensive too. You're wearing some nice gear. I'd much rather sell it than burn it, but I'm under strict orders. It would be far more lucrative for me if you happened to be some other gnome warlock. You understand?"

"No. Oh wait, yes!"

"Glad to hear it." The captain turned and stumped away. "Lock him up, but don't try to kill him. He wasn't kidding about the hellfire. Or the floating."

And so Ilimyn found himself in a small, dank cell, stripped to his underwear and feeling very sorry for himself.

"Hope you enjoy your new lodgings," said the pirate standing outside the bars. "You better count yourself lucky it's not the fish you're sleeping with."

"I don't know, you're pretty damp and smelly."

The pirate spat at him and walked away.

Ilimyn sighed, rolled his eyes, scratched his chin, picked at his nose and sat down on the bed. It was far lumpier than any bed had a right to be.

The lump sat upright and said "Hello!"

Ilimyn screamed and ran to the other side of the cell.

The lump threw the covers off and jumped to its feet. "Sorry to scare you, little buddy. I guess I get a little **OVERLY EXUBERANT** sometimes!"

Ilimyn stayed in his corner. "No kidding!"

The dwarf laughed, the twin braids of his red beard bouncing. "So how'd a nice little guy like you end up with a rough crew like this?"

Ilimyn blinked. "Uh?"

"Egad, they roughed you up so bad you've lost your memory? Those cads!"

"Uh…"

"It's worse than I thought! Those vile, bilgeratty sons of- Whoops, pardon my language little buddy. I just get awful riled up when it comes to bullies!"

"Bullies?"

"Aye, bullies! What else would you call them?"

"Murderers?"

"Oof, that's a right harsh word right here. Also very specific. I'll stick with bullies for the time being." The dwarf blinked and smacked his forehead. "What am I thinking, I haven't introduced myself. The name's Drurok, **WARRIOR OF IRONFORGE**!"

The whole ship shook a little. Their guard ran over to whack at the bars with his cutlass and curse at them.

Drurok shook his fist at him and said "Same to you, you son of a worm!"

The pirate slunk away, his lip trembling.

"There goes my language again. Sorry about that, pirate guy! And what's your name, little buddy?"

"Ilimyn. Uh, warlock of… Gnomeregan?"

"A warlock?"

"Oops, I mean-"

"Well what do you know, a nice warlock! And here I thought they were all a bunch of selfish, evil cads what liked to steal the immortal souls of others for their own personal gain."

"Oh," Ilimyn said, forcing a laugh. "That'd be just… terrible."

"Unforgivable!"

"Awful."

"Inexcusable! Punishable by **PAINFUL WALLOPING UPSIDE THE HEAD**!"

"T-terrible."

"You already said terrible."

"Well, it _is_ terrible."

Drurok shrugged. "Good point. Now listen here, little buddy, I'm what you call a warrior."

"So I've heard."

"And warriors protect them that can't protect themselves. Like you!"

"Hey, now see here-"

"So here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to bust you out of here."

Ilimyn raised an eyebrow. "And how're you going to do that?"

"With my amazing warrior powers!"

"Warriors don't have powers. They just smash things. With weapons. And since you're standing there without any clothes, I'm going to guess they took your gear like they did mine."

"Aye, they did do that. But listen here, they cannot take my _greatest_ weapon."

"Your vocal cords?"

Drurok leaned closer and winked. "My _mind_." He moved to the far side of the cell and shouted, "Hey fish-lips!"

Their guard came by, face red and sword in hand. "What did I tell you about calling me-"

Drurok charged headfirst, smashing through the bars, into the pirate and slamming into the wall behind. The pirate sprawled on the floor.

When the sawdust cleared, Ilimyn said "Technically, that's less your mind and more your skull."

"Same difference," Drurok said, taking the keys and unlocking the cell door, which seemed very unnecessary since the door was right next to the mangled bars he'd just headbutted his way through.

Ilimyn took the door anyway. He poked the guard with his foot. "So you could have done that the whole time?"

"Aye."

"So why… didn't you?"

"Why would I? I get a free room, delicious food and I get to sit around in my skivvies all day. This is what I call a vacation! But I cannot ignore the plight of a poor, innocent warlock, captured by vile ruffians and subjected to their cruel and terrible ways."

"Free food?"

"Aye, gruel! Just the way mum used to make it. Say, would you mind if we waited until after dinner to escape?"

Ilimyn looked back at their cell. "I think they might notice the mess."

"Good point. You can just buy me some food when we get to land. Now then, **HAVE AT YE, SEADOGS**!"

Drurok roared and charged up the steps to the deck. The sound of screams and pirates being thrown improbable distances could be plainly heard. Over the din, Ilimyn heard the warrior shout "There's more of them than I thought! Cover my back, would you, pal?"

Ilimyn snuck off in the other direction, deeper into the ship.

More pirates ran by, toward the brawl on deck, but Ilimyn hid from them easily enough. He ducked into every cabin he passed and rifled through everything he found. By the time he found the captain's quarters, he'd recovered all of his gear, more gold than he could carry and a disconcerting supply of ogre-scented soap.

He had only to peek through the captain's door to see the real prize.

There, on the table, propped up on top of a sea chart, was the mirror. Round, but rough, framed in green stone and the surface of it wavy and dark. Not a glass mirror, certainly, but still the very mirror he was looking for.

Ilimyn licked his lips and pushed at the door. He cursed wildly when it caught on something and shoved.

The door slammed against the cabin wall and rebounded, a very large hook now stuck in it.

"So," said the captain, examining his hookless hand, "you are indeed _that_ gnome warlock."

Ilimyn smiled. "More or less."

"Soon to be much less."

The gnome tried to same something witty, but all that came out was a squeak. He scurried back the way he'd come.

He scrambled onto the deck, only to realize he'd stepped onto a battlefield.

He stepped onto a battlefield, only to realize that the battle was over.

"Hey there, buddy!" Drurok said. He was sitting on a pile of unconscious pirates. "You get lost or something?"

"Uh?"

"Aw, don't feel bad. These guys weren't nothing. I'm hoping the rest of the crew's gonna show up soon."

"I think this _is_ the rest of the crew."

Drurok looked around and sighed. "Well that's disappointing! I was hoping for a real fight."

Just then, the giant drakonid showed up.

It smashed through the deck, sending planks of wood flying. It swung its axe over its head and clove the mast in two.

"Look out!" Drurok shouted.

Ilimyn was wondering how the ship could even float with it onboard when the drakonid turned to him, opened its maw and breathed a wave of flame.

When the fire had died away, he noticed Drurok staring at him.

Ilimyn smiled at the red stone in his hand. "Glad I didn't throw _this_ away!"

Drurok opened his mouth, presumably to request further exposition, but had to jump aside when the drakonid's axe put a crater where he'd been standing. Unconscious pirates slid into the hole and out of sight.

"Alright, buddy," Drurok said, hammer in one hand and shield in the other, "I'll keep him busy while you do some of that fancy warlock business all over his backside. It's gonna be a tough fight. Lots of blood and bruises. Most likely, we'll both end up dragon chow. But maybe, if we stick together and watch each other's back, we might just pull through this in one piece. Either way, you can bet your keister it'll be one hell of a fight! You with me?"

He turned around in time to see Ilimyn lowering the lifeboat out of sight.

"Good idea!" he shouted, "you go to shore and get help. I'll hold the beastie off as long as I can."

He just barely dodged another swing of the giant axe.

"Might want to hurry, though!"

* * *

><p>"So there I was," Ilimyn said, "all alone, fighting through the entire crew!"<p>

The goblin behind the bar rolled his eyes. "Uh huh."

"Then all of a sudden, _bam_! Big old dragamawhozit shows up. Out of nowhere! I am serious, I have no idea how it got there. So I take my dagger-"

"Look pal," the bartender said, "you going to pay your tab or not?"

"I'm getting to that part!"

"Aw, don't worry about it, little buddy. I got you covered!"

Ilimyn stiffened in his seat. He slowly turned around.

The next thing he knew, every bone in his body splintered.

"I been looking all over for you!" Drurok said, hugging the warlock and swinging him around the room. "You had me so worried, what with the whole disappearing in the middle of one hell of a fight. But don't worry, I saved you a bit of the fella's skull so you can make a hat. Or I guess a boat, given that you're something of a little fella!"

"Cr-cru-"

"What's that, little buddy?"

"Crushing… me…"

"Aw, I feel just the same way! But I promise you, I'll never let you out of my sight, ever again! We're going to be the best of pals, little guy! Forever and ever and ever!"

Ilimyn whimpered.

"You know what?" the bartender said, smiling, "this one's on the house."


	3. Doctor Marsignius Bluul

**Doctor Marsignius Bluul**

"When you get right down to it, it was those mages that caused all the world's problems."

Marsignius rolled his eyes and forced down another swallow of his drink. Cantrips and Crows had only two things to offer: good conversation and bad ale. And the conversation wasn't doing much for him tonight.

Ilimyn didn't notice. "Think about it! What drew the demons here in the first place? Those idiot night elves and their magic! Really, that proves my point right there."

"And the orcs? The Horde didn't have any mages during the First War. Gul'dan was a warlock."

"But Medivh wasn't!"

"He was possessed by a demon. I don't think that qualifies as a mage anymore. And anyway, the Legion found Draenor without Medivh's help. The orcs did not have mages."

"But Argus did!"

"Oh this is absurd. I suppose the Dark Titan is a mage as well?"

"Maybe! Oh, and the Nexus War! You didn't hear Malygos declaring war on warlocks now did you?"

The barmaid dropped another mug on the table, ignoring the gnome's winks. Ilimyn chuckled as he reached for the drink, only to curse when he couldn't reach it. He crawled onto the table, knocking the (priceless) tome he'd been sitting on off his chair.

Marsignius frowned. "Much as I enjoy 'catching up', perhaps we can cut to the point?"

Ilimyn cackled, crossing his legs to sit on the table. "You don't want to debate with me anymore, Marsy? I thought we were friends."

"_Were_ being the operative word."

He chuckled, tilting his whole body back to drink from the mug. "Got me there! I have a proposal for you. I need help from someone in your area of expertise." He leered. "Not mage stuff, don't worry. I know they kicked you out."

"About the same time they kicked _you_ out, as I recall."

"Got me again! You know, I always wondered why you went into shamaning-"

"Shamanism."

"Right, that. I mean, you never seemed like much of a nature person."

"That's druidism."

"It is? What're shaman?"

"The elements."

"Isn't that nature stuff too?"

"We were talking about a proposal."

"Right! It's something you can help me with."

"Yes, that is what one assumes when one is asked to do something."

"Something you should find very interesting!"

"Hard to tell when you won't tell me what it is."

"Something you should find _familiar_…"

The mug of ale in Marsignius's hand froze halfway to his mouth. He put it back down a little harder than he'd intended. "No."

"Now when you say no, do you mean no as in 'no way, I don't believe it' or 'no, I won't help you with that, you devilishly handsome warlock you?' "

"The second. Sans the comment on your appearance."

"Well!" Ilimyn said. "I'm awfully disappointed. You haven't even heard the proposal yet."

"I've heard enough. Dammit Ilimyn, we've been through this before, and we got off damn lightly. Are you hoping they'll finish the job and execute you this time?"

"Now you're just overthinking things."

"Hardly. And anyway, it's impossible."

"Im_probable_ you mean?"

"No, I mean im_possible_. Or have you conveniently forgotten that they destroyed the book?"

Ilimyn smiled. "They destroyed one book, yes."

"What are you getting at?"

"I found another book."

"Impossible."

"Im-"

"Don't start that again."

Ilimyn huffed. "Not impossible. I mean, who doesn't make copies when they write important things? That's just good bookkeeping, really. No, I found another book. Same information, slightly sloppier handwriting."

The dwarf squinted at him. "Prove it."

"You don't trust me, Marsy?"

"Not even a little."

"I'm hurt." Ilimyn snapped his fingers.

Marsignius felt a burst of heat behind him. He turned to see an imp scrambling toward them, struggling under the weight of a book twice its size.

"You entrusted the rare and highly flammable book to a creature made of fire?"

"Brilliant, eh?" Ilimyn said. "No one would ever think to search there!"

Marsignius shook his head. "Hello, Bizkin."

Bizkin squeaked something as he stretched onto his toes and shoved the book at the edge of the table. Ilimyn grabbed at it, only to lose his grip. A weak squeal echoed through the Underbelly.

Ilimyn peeked over the table. "Nice going, you idiot."

Marsignius picked up the book, scraping the imp off the bottom, and opened it on the table before him. "You're absolutely right. This handwriting is terrible. And what's this in the margins?"

"Oh, just some deranged ramblings and violent poetry written in Eredun. Pretty standard fare."

"Of course. And where did you find this?"

"That's a long and complicated story that I don't much want to share with you."

"You stole it."

"No! Someone _else_ stole it. Then they died of the plague before I could pay them. So technically, I didn't steal anything."

"If you say so. And I assume you've already collected the other materials?"

Ilimyn cleared his throat. "Collected is one way to put it."

"You have nothing, then?"

"It's an ongoing process!"

Marsignius shut the book. "No."

"Now when you say no, do you mean no as in 'I am playing hard to get and can be convinced with sufficient eyebrow waggling' or 'not a chance in hell you revolting cretin?'"

"The second. With emphasis on the comment on your appearance."

"Aw, why not? It'll be fun!"

"That's what you said last time. Perhaps you remember the results?"

"Yes, and it was so much fun!"

"Ilimyn," he said, leaning forward, "no."

The gnome sighed. "Alright, fine, be that way. Breaking my heart here, Marsy. Making me real sad."

"Feel free to cry about it on your way out." Marsignius leaned back with his mug.

"Sheesh, you sure have gotten cranky. You used to have a sense of… Oh who am I kidding? You've always been a killjoy. Is that a dwarf thing or what?"

Ilimyn jumped off the table, landing with a crunch. He scowled at his feet and said "Bizkin! Why are you still lying around?"

The imp whimpered.

"Last chance," Ilimyn said. "Fame, fortune, power beyond compare. And maybe a little revenge, eh? What do you say, Marsy?"

Marsignius took a swig and didn't look at him.

"Suit yourself. I'll think of you when I'm coming out on top."

He chuckled as he walked away. He didn't get far before he ran back and snatched the book from the table.

"By the way," he said, smiling slyly, "how's Bartellone doing?"

Marsignius stared off into the distance. "Haven't heard from him. Why? You're not planning on dragging him into this, are you?"

"Oh no. Wouldn't dream of it."

Marsignius watched him walk away.


	4. Vindicator Fyore

**Vindicator Fyore**

"He has passed this way."

"How can you be certain?"

"I can _sense_ it."

Vindicator Kemos glanced at the tiny footprints beneath them and rolled his eyes. Vindcator Valoren sighed.

"We are getting close," Vindicator Fyore said, clenching her fist and shaking it at no one in particular. "Rally your strength, men. We do not rest until we capture him."

"Ma'am, we're already two hours' journey off of our patrol route. We should report back to Blood Watch, or they'll think we've-"

"No time for that. The capture of this vile heathen is of the utmost importance."

"But-"

"_The utmost importance_!"

Fyore spurred her elekk forward.

Valoren sighed. Kemos scowled. Both followed.

* * *

><p>The red haze grew thick on that part of Bloodmyst. Corruption was heavy in the air, crawling into her lungs and choking her. She could see her followers growing weary. But they were weak: Fyore could press on forever.<p>

She slid off her elekk when they found the fugitive's campsite. The ashes were still warm and the vile treant bark that had fed the fire left a terrible stench in the air. Valoren gagged. Kemos covered his nose. Only Fyore had the strength to ignore it.

On the ground by the dead fire was a yellow object. It was shaped like a tree branch, but when she picked it up it was soft and moist in her hand, like a giant finger.

She turned to her companions and held it up. "This vile thing can only be a reagent in some depraved warlock ritual."

Valoren looked at Kemos. Kemos looked at Valoren.

Valoren cleared his throat and said "It's a corncob."

Fyore scowled. "What?"

Valoren pointed. "A corncob. A cob of corn. Food."

"Don't be ridiculous. This is _clearly_ an object of dark power."

"It has teethmarks on it."

"And an item of such power and filthiness must be _purged in holy flame_!"

Fyore tightened her fist around the dreaded grain. Light surged forth, blinding the unworthy (mostly just Valoren and Kemos). When she opened her hand, only ashes remained.

"Whatever abominable ritual was performed here-"

"Like lunch," Kemos muttered.

Fyore glared at him. "We are catching up. So long as we do not stop, we will have him before the sun sets."

"Vindicator," Valoren said, "the sun has _already_ set. It is nearly midnight."

Fyore blinked and looked to the sky. The moon shone brightly through the red fog.

She shook her head. "_Regardless_, we must hurry."

"Blood Watch will be searching for us by now," Kemos said. "The Exarch will not be pleased if he must send out another patrol just to find us. We- _you_ are under strict orders. Remember?"

"This intruder has stolen from us."

"Stolen _what_? Will you at least tell us that?"

"I do not know," Fyore said, "nor do I care. If it belonged to the Hand of Argus, then we must recover it. Nothing else matters."

"What about your duty?"

Fyore rushed at Kemos, her face a hair's breadth from his. He flinched.

"I know my duty," Fyore said, eyes blazing. "I am the law. Do not question me again."

* * *

><p>They were tired. She hated them for their weakness, that it should slow her down when she was so close. She left them to rest for a moment while she scouted ahead.<p>

The warlock was careless: did he not know she pursued him, or did he not care? The broken branches, the dead blood elves, the words "Ilimyn was here" burned into the trees… was he taunting her?

It did not matter. They were almost to the coast, where there would be no escape. Soon he would have nowhere to run but into her waiting arms, where she would hold him tight, whisper to him of the Light's forgiveness and use it to burn him alive.

Fyore blinked. That had gotten a little weird. Perhaps she could use some rest as well.

When she neared the clearing where she had left them, she heard her brother paladins talking.

"The woman's a maniac," Kemos roared. "We've indulged her long enough. We must return to Blood Watch."

"How? She won't turn back without the warlock."

"There's two of us and one of her. When she comes back, we jump her and _drag_ her back to the Exarch."

"I don't know," Valoren said, in that insufferable voice of his. How many times had she told him to stop that whining? "She's very strong. I'm not sure we could take her."

"She's a _holy_ paladin, for M'uru's sake. I think we'll manage."

"She has been getting awfully strange lately."

"Only lately? She's been a basket case for years."

"I guess. What do you think the Exarch will do to her when we bring her back?"

"Kick her out of the Hand, I'd think. And she deserves it too. We can't have someone that unstable running about. Gives the draenei a bad name, and these Alliance already don't seem to think much of us. Not to mention all the people she could hurt."

Valoren sighed. "I suppose you're right."

"Of course I am. Now when she comes back, we both grab her at once."

Fyore turned her elekk around and rode deeper into the wilderness.

* * *

><p>As if she had ever needed their help! As if she had ever <em>wanted<em> their help! She was a Vindicator, a Hand of Argus! She needed no one!

She had needed no one when she'd fought on Draenor, when she'd beaten back the orc menace as her people had fled to the Exodar. She had done that on her own!

"But then again," a nagging voice said at the back of her mind, "it was acting on your own that led to all this shame in the first place, now wasn't it?"

Fyore told that nagging voice to shut up or so help her she would come back there and _make_ it shut up. The nagging voice wisely decided to shut up.

* * *

><p><em>There<em>.

He stood in the middle of the clearing, giggling to himself, setting fire to the twisted trees. She could see the satchel swinging from his shoulder.

She stepped out from the shadows and said "Warlock."

He spun around. When he saw her, his face broke into a smile. "Paladin!"

They stared at each other in silence for a while.

Eventually, Ilimyn said "How's it going?"

"I am Vindicator Fyore. I serve the Hand of Argus. I am the blade of the Naaru, the will of the Prophet. I have hunted you across this plagued land, and now you are _mine_. Come quietly, and you will not be harmed."

Ilimyn laughed. "Look, uh…"

"Fyore."

"Whatever. You seem like a nice lady and all, but I've got a busy schedule. Sort of on a deadline here. I'll try and swing by the Exodar later if you want to catch up, maybe get a drink. I'll let you know."

Fyore threw bolts of searing light at him.

He squealed and ran, barely dodging. The ground shimmered and burned where she struck, but the gnome escaped between the trees.

She followed, hands and eyes blazing. He was fast, but her longer strides soon brought him into view. The bark and stones and red weeds around him withered under the wrath of the light she summoned.

"Okay, new plan!" Ilimyn shouted over his shoulder, "how about I leave you a mailing address, and you can just write me. We can set something up that way. How's that sou- _Oh sweet mother of mercy that stings_!"

He hopped around, patting out the fire on his shoulder, tripped over a root and rolled down a hill and out of sight.

When she caught up, it was only to see the drake rising before her.

"Not bad!" he yelled, holding onto the blue beast's neck, "but you should have known better than to mess with-"

He yelped and ducked as holy fire skimmed over his head.

"Not bad again, but you still should have known better than- _tumbling tuskarr_! Will you please stop that!"

She roared.

"I'll take that as a no. Bye Vindicator… uh…"

"Fyore!"

"Right, yeah."

The drake banked and flew away, out across the ocean, easily dodging her bolts of light. The gnome's laughter faded into the distance.

Fyore stared after him for a moment before she slumped to the ground and covered her face with her hands.

She stayed there, prostrate with failure, for a very long time.

Eventually, she stood.

It was no use, she knew. The warlock had slipped from her grasp. She had _failed_. And there was nothing left to do but return to her post and accept her punishment. Her brothers would enjoy that part, no doubt. The shame would follow her for years to come, if indeed it ever faded.

She slumped her shoulders and began the long trek back.

The trek ended early when she found the satchel, its leather shoulder strap burned through.

"Yes!" Fyore said, laughing (some might have said cackling) to herself, "I win! It's mine! Worthless gnome, foolish warlock! I win, you see? It's mine mine _mine_!"

She laughed and laughed and reached into the bag.

"Now may you know the wrath of the draenei! Now may you see that we brook no insult to our prowess! To think, that some lowly servant of evil could ever manage to steal such a deadly and terrible weapon from us, that the Hand would ever lose track of this fiendish candle! The very idea is-"

Fyore blinked and looked at the object in her hand.

It was a candle. It was large and thick around, the size of a cup, and made of red wax. There were no demonic runes carved into it. Its wick did not burn with green, never-ending flame. It smelled vaguely of watermelon.

Why would he come so far to steal a candle? Why would the Hand of Argus guard such a thing? Was there something she was missing?

Still, she had it. Fyore could return to Blood Watch with her head held high. Kemos and Valoren would be there, of course, sneering at her from behind the Exarch, who would be there waiting for her with some stern reprimand. But she would give him the candle, and their smiles would fade. The Exarch would commend her, reward her. Those cowards would spend the rest of their lives cleaning latrines, while _she_ would command the Vindicators in war. The Prophet himself would bless her and call her a hero. At last, all the draenei would know the name of Fyore, and know that she was blessed and chosen by the naaru. At last she would be free of shame!

But Fyore turned to look at the ocean, at the misty horizon where the warlock had vanished.

"I am a hero," she told no one in particular, "and heroes never let the villains escape.

"I will press on forever."


End file.
